


needles & threads

by xxELF21xx



Series: battlefield [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Mentions of blood & injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: 'Your scarf is missing.'
Relationships: Time & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Series: battlefield [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995016
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	needles & threads

**Author's Note:**

> im back on that warriors and time bullshit (dabs)

**I.**

Ruins of the battlefield have become his closest friend. Wherever he may be, in Hyrule Field or in the Eldin Caves, every victory is met with the grim realisation that they’ve lost more than they’ve won. 

He scans the area, ignoring the crumbling stones of a once sturdy outpost, running the numbers as his chest tightens with every man down. At the very least, the number of casualties sustained in this battle was far less than any others; though it does nothing to soothe him. 

The thought of having to report to Impa fills his boots with lead, slowing his jog into a dreary sludge. Proxi chimes comfortingly, making herself visible, encouraging him to take just one more step forward. He really wished this would end sooner. 

Proxi’s cheers fall away completely, silence filling his every pore. Throat still sore from being strangled by Volga last week -- that asshat will pay for it next time -- he attempts to draw her attention with a light whistle. She takes no notice, whizzing off without him for the first time since they’ve met, forcing him to chase after her while his body smarts and groans.

Has she given up on being nice? Maybe she’s finally had enough of his pessimism and is now forcing him to continue through sheer will. 

He’s nearly out of breath when she finally stops on the other side of the field, flying into an outpost -- he doesn’t remember this area having an outpost at all -- and twirling in the air for a brief moment before swooping down. Wasn’t that a sign of distress? Had she picked up on something gravely disturbing? 

Against every cell in his body, he quickens his pace and stumbles past the iron gates, which had a hole ripped clean in the middle -- and what sort of monster could do _that?_ \-- to come face to face with a boy. 

A _child._

Blond hair, roughly the same shade as his, caked in dried blood. A green tunic and hat, eerily similar to his, but a lot simpler and well-worn, and a belt with several masks attached that swayed with his every step. There was a giant cut on his side, most likely from a lizalfos. 

Proxi’s chimes have gotten frantic as she flutters nearby, telling the child to rest and that _‘medics will be on the way.’_

(He wonders if she laments that she wasn’t graced with any healing abilities.)

The child doesn’t seem to notice her at all, swaying dangerously. He’s not sure what to make of this -- every civilian had been evacuated weeks ago, where had this child come from? Then, he notices the giant sword strapped to the kid’s back. _What insane person would give a child a sword even I can’t wield?!_

He rushes forward, catching the kid before he collapses and split his head open on the stone floor. Proxi screeches, her chimes no longer decipherable, reminding him of howling winds and trees crashing. He’s careful not to shake the kid, laying him in his lap while he assesses the nasty gash. 

Guilt chews away at him, berating him for not having been fast enough, not being strong enough. 

He’s run out of bandages some time ago, using his last roll on a fellow soldier, but he’s still got a full bottle of red potion. Without much thought, he tugs his scarf free, using it as a makeshift bandage, carefully angling the child’s head towards him as Proxi uncorks the bottle. 

Link nearly spills his last potion when he sees the kid’s face. 

It’s _his_ face. 

There are some differences, the tiny scar near the kid’s eyebrow and the slant of his eyes, but it’s definitely _his face._

Was this another one of Cia’s tricks? To incapacitate him using a child that looked like him? 

‘Link! Hurry!’ Proxi’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he stashes away all the curses he has at the tip of his tongue -- even though there’s no way he could possibly speak at all, given his current condition -- and drains the bottle into child-him’s mouth. 

They return to camp, the only ones who hadn’t been accounted for. 

Impa meets them at the makeshift entrance, relief clear on her face. She doesn’t notice the bundle in his arms, nor Proxi’s weird chimes, her eyes fixed on his bare neck. ‘Your scarf is missing.’ 

His scarf was a part of the Hero’s uniform. Never meant to be taken off, a sign of Hylia’s pride. 

But Hylia’s pride meant nothing in the face of a kid with a too-big sword on his back and a gash that cut so deep. 

Proxi defends him before Impa could make her next move, explaining the situation with short little buzzes and a lot of jumbled words. 

**II.**

The latest addition to their camp is a boy no older than ten. Proxi’s fiercely protective of him, more so than she is of Link, trailing after him everywhere he went with melancholic jingles. 

He’s a Hero as well. The Hero of Time, fabled user of the royal family’s Ocarina. His name was also Link. 

(There’s a joke somewhere that he doesn’t really get.)

Young Link, as many have taken to calling him, was strangely okay with the current situation. His injury was healing up nicely, thank the Golden Goddesses, but he wasn’t allowed to be moving around all that much. Proxi was supposed to make sure of that.

Link taps his foot impatiently, glaring at the boy and his guardian. ‘What are you doing?’ His voice was back, thankfully, otherwise, this scolding session would be a lot more of him stewing in exasperated silence and Young Link interpreting his hand gestures with a cheeky grin on his face. 

At least Young Link had the decency to look ashamed, kicking the dirt under his feet with eyes lowered. He mumbles something, not loud enough to hear, but Link manages to catch a gist of the excuse. 

Shame creeps up his neck, a little voice nagging him for being too harsh on the kid. Sighing, he drags a hand through his hair. ‘I know it’s boring in the medical tent,’ the kid brightens up a little, ‘but you need to listen to the doctor and stay there until you’re healthy enough to be out and about.’ 

The kid pouts, in all his pint-sized glory, giving Link a front-row seat to his kicked puppy look that made even _Impa_ fold like crumpled parchment. 

Proxi’s no better, chiming in and telling Link to be nicer. 

Irritation scores his skin like bug bites, but he has to hold his ground. Young Link was a ticking bomb that could explode at any second, he nearly decimated the medical tent when he woke up the first time, he had to be careful and make sure the kid won’t pull something as devastating. Maybe he could take the kid’s sword away.

‘No. Doctor’s orders are final.’ 

Young Link’s -- _ugh,_ he _hates_ using that name -- pout goes from cute to utterly terrifying, a flicker of rage and an otherworldly face stares at him with an air of insolence. ‘But-- ‘ Still-pudgy fingers tug incessantly at his scarf, nearly choking him, ‘but General Impa said!’ 

Oh, for the love of Farore! _Impa!_

With some difficulty, he manages to voice his disagreement. Young Link clearly has had enough of acting nice, snatching his scarf away and running off deeper into camp, most presumably to reclaim his sword from the makeshift smithy. 

‘Your scarf is missing,’ Sheik’s soft voice startles him, and he turns around to see the mysterious Sheikah warrior raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. 

Normally, he tries his best to be civil and polite. He can’t really be arsed to do that now. 

‘Wouldn’t you like to know why?’ He grumbles, ignoring Sheik’s pleasant laughter and how his heart flutters ever-so-slightly. 

**III.**

It’s a fact now: he can’t get a day of peace with Young Link. 

Every soldier in camp has come to fear him for reasons Link doesn’t understand. No amount of confiscating his ridiculous giant sword -- the _Biggoron_ sword, Young Link had called it -- was enough punishment, not when the squirt had another ridiculous-but-not-as-huge sword Link didn’t want to know the name of in his arsenal. 

Every day, without fail, a soldier from various ranks, from foot soldiers to archers to a member of the Royal Guard, would greet him outside his tent with a new complaint about Young Link wreaking havoc and causing misery in some part of camp. 

Link would never know any of his charge’s escapades until then, his sleep-addled brain chugging slowly as the soldier scowls at him. ‘Do something about him, _please!’_ One of them had begged, shoving a bar of chocolate in his hand before running off in presumed terror. 

And every morning, without fail, one of his friends would approach him with a _startling_ discovery. 

This morning, it was Midna, acclaimed Twilight Princess with a penchant for pet wolves and heartbreak. ‘Your scarf is missing, Link.’ She greets in lieu of good morning. 

He chirps back a pleasant morning, retreats into his tent, and decides the best battle strategy to wrangle his scarf off the sleeping gremlin.

**IV.**

The Hero of Winds, Toonie, is in an endless tug-of-war with Young Link. Both of them are resilient in their cause, glaring at the other with the worst malice and never-ending darkness. 

‘Captain said it was _my_ turn with the scarf today!’ Both of them exclaim at the same time, drawing a giggle from Marin. 

Zelda walks in on the scene, blissfully unaware of the situation, her smile falling into a frown. ‘Link, where is your scarf?’ 

Wordlessly, his face burning, he points at the two growling Heroes.

**V.**

‘Your scarf is missing, Captain!’ One of his men hollers in the mess hall. The others laugh, loud and happy, and he joins them, though it’s tinged with a smidge of sadness. 

Proxi chimes, soothing him, as he tracks down the cause of all his headaches in the past year. Castle Town was rebuilding at breakneck speed, the scenery outside the castle’s window changing with the rise and fall of the sun. Soon enough, he thinks, he won’t be able to see Hyrule Field from the highest point of the castle anymore. 

And that’s where he finds the kid, curled up in _his_ scarf, sitting comfortably at the edge of the chapel’s roof. 

‘Rupee for your thoughts?’ He makes himself comfortable on the thin wooden planks, mindful of the creaks and long fall beneath it. Young Link grunts, stowing away his ocarina and plethora of magical songs. 

Neither of them speak, watching the clouds crawl across the sky. 

‘Can I stay here?’ Young Link whispers, devoid of any cheer and mischief. ‘I’ve got nobody at home, and I don’t think Talon wants me near his daughter. Here’s nice.’ He clutches the scarf tighter, fingernails scratching the stitches and picking at the patches. 

‘Here’s nice,’ he whispers again. 

Link breathes, blinking away the tears. ‘Sure, kid. We’ll stay as long as you want.’ 

**+1**

He doesn’t think he can conjure enough tears for this. He thought he was _done_ with it all, thought that the portals closed and he’d bid his final goodbyes to his family a long, long time ago. 

‘Captain,’ the gremlin -- and how _dare_ he get taller than him -- grins and he’s suddenly reliving months of suffering all over again, ‘I see you’ve found your scarf.’ 


End file.
